


Like A Swelling Tide

by elegantanagram (Lir)



Series: HSWC 2014 Bonus Round Fills [10]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Cultural Differences, Developing Relationship, F/M, Femdom, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Hand Feeding, POV Third Person, Shared Universe, Wordcount: 100-2.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 19:49:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1830145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lir/pseuds/elegantanagram
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>For their second date, Porrim says they need to do something traditional. Only something sophisticated will be suiting, she explains, leading into a courtship that builds, like a swelling tide, toward the full flush of a healthy matespritship. Eridan is too starstruck from having a woman as classy as she paying attention to him, one who gives coy little nods toward his seatroll heritage, to protest, even though he's suspicious that she just wants to pick the location. She tells him she knows the perfect place.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like A Swelling Tide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dojo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dojo/gifts).



> Written for the first bonus round of the 2014 [Homestuck Shipping World Cup.](http://hs-worldcup.dreamwidth.org/) The prompt was "Remember when Porrim and Eridan went on a sushi date?"
> 
> This was a pairing I'd never thought about before, but the siren song of sushi lured me in, and once I started thinking about it, the potential dynamic is so great. Eridan primarily wants someone who will pay him attention and appreciate his devotion to his weird passions, whereas Porrim wants someone who will respect her and let her take the reins. You wouldn't think Eridan would be good for that, but given some time to age up and mature, and given respect himself? He really could! This is nebulously set in a post-game shared world that's been forming it's own co-joined culture, so that was also fun to write!
> 
> A friend of mine also did [an art fill](https://24.media.tumblr.com/3bdbc86efa552bae0e70f218a139ccd1/tumblr_n5wacqYLA61qemicto1_1280.png) which unintentionally fits my words perfectly, and is highly recommended additional viewing.

-

For their second date, Porrim says they need to do something traditional. Only something sophisticated will be suiting, she explains, leading into a courtship that builds, like a swelling tide, toward the full flush of a healthy matespritship. Eridan is too starstruck from having a woman as classy as she paying attention to him, one who gives coy little nods toward his seatroll heritage, to protest, even though he's suspicious that she just wants to pick the location. She tells him she knows the perfect place. 

When he shows up, the storefront looks unassuming in plain beige brick and darkly-stained clapboard, the windows in front small and more private than those of all the other, ostentatious shops lining the block. He likes the neighborhood. He likes the look of the restaurant, even – it's understated, adult. He never expected to see a sweep past six, not in any way that mattered, not when he gave that chance away. Getting another shot is an unexpected gift, one that he'll grab with both hands. 

He'll see eight sweeps, in another few perigees.

He might even see ten, if he plays his cards right. He might still have Porrim in his pocket when the-- well, he's not sure if the drones will come calling, but won't that be a fucking lark none of their friends could have expected to see. She's lovely; he can imagine being with her for tens of sweeps, for hundreds, and the thought brings a besotted little smile to his lips. 

Porrim meets him in the entranceway, standing beside the low walnut waiting-bench (he thinks she's trying not to wrinkle her dress, ever-conscious of appearances and god, he loves that about her, she looks better than a king's ransom), and gives him a fangy little smile in greeting. She takes his arm, and they're shown by a serving-troll to their table. 

It's not really a mixed-species place; all the other patrons they're led past are as gray-skinned as them both. Eridan slides into a seat at the high table they're show to, and Porrim perches on the stool opposite him. She flips open the menu with just a clawtip, then flicks her eyes suggestively toward the one set before Eridan, inviting him to peruse. 

He doesn't actually know what kind of cuisine she's taken him for, having left all the preparations up to her. He just knows he likes the stark dark-and-tan of the décor and the warm, low-hanging lamps, likes that it feels close and intimate and just perfect for the next step in the course of a beautifully blossoming redrom. 

"What do you recommend?" he asks, going for gentlemanly. He doesn't know what half the names on the menu mean, holy shit; he needs to save face in front of her. "I would pick, but I'm feelin' adventurous an' there's so much to choose from." 

She flips his menu from the appetizers to the next page and taps her claw against a column that rapidly deciphers itself into a long list of Alternian sea-dwelling delicacies, and a few more besides. "I thought the fish in particular might interest you." 

His fins give a little flutter, something between fondness for her and nostalgia for his old home, merged with a low-burning wonder at how damn thoughtful she is. "Holy shit, do you know how hard some a this was to catch? Fef used to go divin' for some a these an' I never knew how she didn't get her trident-arm ripped clean offa her. This kinda squid could rip a troll in half with its tentacles, an' these eels? They secreted one of Alternia's deadliest neurotoxins – though perfectly harmless if you cut off the right parts, a course, an' useful besides. Where did you find this place?" 

Porrim listens to him with an amused benevolence, not interrupting his admiring outpouring of trivia. "I make a point of knowing all the best gossip," she reminds him with a wink. "That includes knowing all of the best new restaurants." 

Eridan glances around the place again, momentarily surprised. It doesn't look new, not with how artfully aged the interior is, but it's just like her to know of a fantastic restaurant before anyone else has caught wind of it. He notices again the all-troll patronage, and it clicks. "Almost everythin' here is Alternian fare, that's why there aren't any humans. Hell, I bet a human couldn't even digest the flesh of a muraena alternia, not without vomitin' up all his guts an' needin' an antivenin." 

"There are some human customers who come," Porrim concedes, with a shrug. "There are the occasional cultural tourists, but for the most part you're entirely right. The cuisine is a bit outside safe human consumption." 

Eridan nods a little to himself, suddenly and painfully aware of how he's marveling and gawking like a wiggler. He buries his nose back in his menu, trying to make a decision. 

"If you'd still like a suggestion," Porrim adds. "There is a sushi boat for two, which includes a wide variety of tastes for couples with a discerning palate." 

Eridan doesn't need to hear any farther than "for two" before his mind is made up. He'll happily give up succulent hunks of his favorite deep-fried squid, the skin crisp and well-salted, or even skewered ends of the delicate, smallest tentacles, still raw and peppered with tiny suckers, in exchange for that unspoken approval. That's the sound of his matespritship _going_ somewhere. He's nodding faster than he can think, a violet blush already spreading up the sides of his neck, mostly-unseen, toward his gills. 

They order forthwith, as soon as the serving-troll comes by to inquire their fancy. 

The food comes out on a wooden platter shaped like an old galleon, pretty as a picture with the fish in jewel-bright morsels all along its surface. Each piece perches on a little white bed, those nuggets neatly packed and compressed to bear its single bite like a throne. Eridan's mouth is watering. He forgoes the funny little sticks left beside both of their places, snatching up a piece with his fingers before he thinks better of his manners. 

Porrim only grins, her look permissive and knowing, and he flushes a little higher. "I-I'm just feelin' a bit peckish, I guess I was hungrier than I reckoned," he says, defensive. 

She suppresses her smile, but it's still there, playing about the corners of her mouth as she lifts her eating-skewers and folds them between her fingers. "By all means, I don't want to stop you from digging in." 

They talk intermittently as they eat, commenting on the rich flavor of one bite, the native home of another. Porrim points out a few species they now have the privilege of digesting that were only native to Beforus and which Eridan has never tried before in his young life, and he expresses more delight over some of his old favorites from home. Nothing beats being alive in the new world, but there are some creature comforts he's so relieved to have back that he could almost cry. His fins flutter constantly in low-grade pleasure, giving little ripples every time he forgets himself and they get the better of him. 

"Try this," Porrim says, in the wake of an amusing story about one of Latula's latest adventures, plucking up one of the few remaining pieces with her skewers. 

"I can't--" Eridan starts, looking at the polished wood in her fingers. She cups her hand underneath the morsel while she waits, so his delay won't see it dropped. "I mean. I never quite mastered the hang a them things, I wouldn't want to drop it when it looks so goo... o-oh." 

He trails off with the sudden burst of enlightenment, blushing all the way to his fin-tips. He can feel the cool prickle of his own blood against the sides of his neck, can feel the chill it causes to ripple down the line of his spine. But he opens his mouth obediently, keeping his fangs out of the way and lifting his tongue slightly, invitation for her to deliver. As she brings the piece of fish to his lips, the hand held underneath goes to cup his chin instead, and he closes his mouth, chewing dutifully while she holds his face. 

It tastes heavenly, but that might be just the mis-routed mortification, translating itself to unfiltered pleasure as it floods into his pan. When he's swallowed – he thinks maybe she can feel it, her hand right up by his throat – she leans that last bit closer, kissing him delicately on the mouth.

"How was it?" she asks, as if she'd done nothing to send his bloodpusher rocketing into his throat and his pan melting out his auricular clots what with the sheer sultriness of her manner. 

Eridan swallows tightly, nods his head twice in quick, jerking bobs, realizes belatedly that his gobsmacked agreement is not an answer. "Good. It's good." 

"I thought you'd say that!" she says lightly. "I do pride myself on making smart choices. It seems this restaurant was just the thing." 

Eridan nods again, and this time agreement is at least logically merited. 

"You're the smartest lady I know," he tells her, with unvarnished earnestness. He doesn't even care that he sounds like a smitten juvenile, because she makes him feel like he's won the biggest lottery across both their dead universes, and he's riding that ticket all the way to contented victory. 

"Thank you," she says, laughing brightly, and kisses him again. She lingers this time, the longer points of her fangs just teasing at his lips, and he hopes every patron in the place is wise enough to stare. 

-

-


End file.
